Kissing Through The Glass
by ScarletEvolution
Summary: 'Spock must be uncomfortable with this broken human trying to pull himself together through willpower and stolen body-heat. But if he is, all he does is let Jim press closer as Jim breathes and breathes and breathes.' - In the aftermath, Spock is confronted, Jim deals with his undeath, and they both silently begin accepting the depth of their feelings. ST:ID. Spirk pre-slash.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This will be my first and last author's note for this entire story, as I don't want to disrupt the flow. Basically, this story slots into the end of ST:ID, partly in between Kirk's coma and his waking up, and then a couple of months after the end of the movie._

 _Warnings for entire fic: Swearing, panic attacks, Spirk (Spock/Kirk) pre-slash - You have been warned._

 _Disclaimer for entire fic: As I am not a reincarnated Gene Roddenberry, I cannot claim that I own Star Trek, or will receive any profit from this._

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

Spock is in bad shape by the time he beams up - adrenaline thrumming furious through every bruised line of his body, stiff-limbed over the cradle of Uhura's shoulders, bleeding inside, bleeding out.

Khan is worse.

But McCoy doesn't care, as long as he still has blood. Stretchers careen through battle-worn corridors, into turbolifts, and out into Sickbay. A needle snicks into place just below the four finger-bruises that cage the pale skin of Khan's wrist. Red slides down the clear tubing, rich, dark, life-giving.

"I need the Tribble report. _Now!"_

McCoy growls the instruction through his teeth, somehow not even topping the list of Things That He Never Thought He'd Say. Someone passes him the report. Someone bustles around Khan's head with a medical tricorder, taking stock of the wounds before they heal (too fast). Someone else pulls Spock away from the cryo-tube, where he is staring, watching, roiling underneath his blank and black-eyed mask.

He wonders if Spock sees the same as he does. If he is watching the frozen swirls of air fractal and snowflake above Jim's face. If the closed and glowless eyes make Spock brittle and liable to break. If the hope is a glorious poison for Spock too.

Of course he doesn't, McCoy inwardly snaps, even as he's directing a thousand demands. Of course he doesn't, even though it damn well looks like it.

The cryo-tube hisses open with a noise like an exasperated sigh. Three medics slip their hands under Jim's prone body, lifting him up, out, and down. McCoy inserts the needle to begin the transfusion, not bothering to match their blood-types - if it worked for a Tribble, it'll work for James T. Kirk. Finally McCoy stems the flow, pressing a cotton-bud into the pinprick wound.

He remembers too late that dead men do not bleed.

People enter the Sickbay. People leave. A woman is crying, and it layers acrid over the smell of seared flesh. It serves to remind McCoy that the entire ship is in medical crisis (not just the crisis lying in front of him in the bed), limping home bent but victorious. And he stands in the middle of it, barking orders and applying hypos and gesturing wildly with both hands. Conducting a miracle.

Orchestrating a resurrection.

Spock is still standing at McCoy's side. A trickle of green blood snakes from the edge of his mouth.

"Get on a biobed, you hobgoblin. You could have damage to your internal organs!"

Spock waits a beat. Two. The logic of it all must catch up to him, because he turns in silence to leave. Then - a shift on the medical panel - a low beep that turns into a slow rhythm. McCoy lets out a small cry, accompanied by something twinging deep in his chest. Spock is already there the instant before McCoy looks up, mouth open as if to sob or curse or thank a God he doesn't believe in.

Torturously, Spock walks to a biobed and lies down. A swarm of Medics cluster to his side. His eyes close, and Uhura touches his shoulder in a fleeting promise. Her eyes, when she looks up, are dark and sheened with tears and understanding. It takes McCoy a moment to tear himself away from the feeling he's just witnessed something raw and private click into place. He snaps back down to Jim's side.

"Put him in an induced coma. Monitor him constantly."

…

Two weeks pass before McCoy gets to properly analyse Khan's medical report. He wasn't intending to - Khan wasn't his patient and wasn't his problem. However, as Chief Medical Officer, he really didn't get a goddamn choice.

In any case, it's still eleven days between the time it lands on his desk and the time he reads it through. Eleven days, during which time he has to write reports, and perform psych evals, and Jim goes into cardiac arrest (and he can still remember the way Spock went black and white and edged when McCoy told him.)

But when he does:

"Spock, listen. There's something I need to talk to you about, so you're going to sit your Vulcan ass down there, and you are going to be quiet."

One eyebrow quirks patronisingly. McCoy scans back down the report.

"I've been reading Khan's medical report. Now as far as I can figure out - and as much as I hate to admit it - you did a fucking brave thing going after him. I have an analysis here that tells me Khan is four times as strong as humans, which is stronger than you."

McCoy flicks down through the PADD, enjoying Spock's wary glare.

"Stamina off-the-charts, perfect physical health, oh and that miraculous super-blood."

The Doctor fixes Spock with an arrogance-sharp glance, reveling in the fact they both know where this is going.

"And yet, as far as _I_ remember, y'only got a couple of cracked ribs and fingers, a bruised skull, and came back bloodied and battered… but still standing."

Nothing in Spock's expression changes - no subtle shift of his eyes or set of his mouth - but McCoy can sense a tangible vulnerability.

"Khan -" He savours, "- Was not."

"I am aware of that. He sustained multiple phaser shots from Lieutenant Uhura."

McCoy lets a smirk slip lazy across his face.

"I believe you. But I have a report here tellin' me he was knocked out by blunt force trauma to the back of the head. That and his fractured jaw leads me to believe that either you or the Lieutenant punched him so hard he blacked out."

The First Officer shifts imperceptibly in his chair.

"And Uhura ain't the one with the broken fingers."

"It was necessary to incapacitate him. Khan would not have co-operated while conscious."

Doctor McCoy takes a long hard look over at the biobed, where Jim's chest rises and falls as constant as the sun. Spock follows his gaze, and when the heart-monitor stutters, he flinches right along with it. McCoy softens his voice.

"Look, Spock, you're right. You're right. But I have a list here, and I'm going to need you to read it out for me. You need to know how far you've gone, and how close that is to too far."

He hands over the PADD with an odd kind of vindictiveness. The Vulcan's eyes scan over it. There is a moment of silence, and then he begins to read.

"Blunt force trauma to the lower half of the Parietal bone. Fractured jaw-bone. Grade 3 concussion. Severe phaser burns."

Spock glances up, as if to say _that wasn't me._

"I think we can put that one down to Uhura. Keep going."

"Deep tissue bruising on cheek, back and arms. Scalp laceration - most likely from some form of metal weapon."

McCoy checks them off in his head as Spock reads them out, before holding up a hand. His voice slips into a Southern drawl, slow with anticipation.

"I found out today that they'll give you a medal for this. And if you hit just a little too hard, enjoyed the blood on your hands just a little too much, well, no-one is going to blame you. Hell, I'd do the same thing… perhaps not to the same extent, but God knows I've thought about it enough times."

He leans forward, open body language becoming closed, the Georgian sun of his words turning into a vicious flash-burn.

"But you better fucking stop pretending that any of it was because of your precious logic."

Spock meets his gaze straight-on, with a cracked look in his eyes, split down jaded lines of pain and resolution. There is a final line to the report. Spock opens his mouth and pauses - barely noticeable - but long enough for a broken prophecy to coat the air in venom.

" _You can't even break a rule. How can you be expected to break bone?"_

"Lower humerus bone, cleanly snapped in half."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Scotty edges into the room with a smear of grease bruising his skin black, all the way from his right temple to the curve of his jaw. Nyota gives him a flash of a smile, as he places a card and a scruffy bouquet of flowers on the already-overflowing table of tributes. Absentmindedly, he rubs the side of his face. The grease spreads across his cheek and blackens his knuckles.

"Now Cap'n," Scotty says sternly, standing beside his bed. "I know ye're feeling a little peely wally, but ye better wake up soon or ah'll play my bagpipes loudly enough to wake this whole place 'till ye do."

"That's quite a threat, Mr Scott." She says softly.

He shrugs one shoulder, looking away embarrassed. "If it makes him better quicker."

"How are the repairs going?"

"Och, our lady will be right as rain, ye'll see. She's a bit battered, but she'll make it."

His enthusiasm is catching, and the Scottish patterns of speech have always been a source of fascination to her. Nyota nods attentively, before cocking her head to the door, tracking the sound of footsteps from far down the hospital corridor.

"That will be Doctor McCoy. I promised that I'd monitor Jim, but I'm sure it would be fine to leave him in the Doctor's hands long enough to visit the cafeteria."

"Aye, I could go fer a sandwich." Scotty nodded gravely.

The door snaps open and Spock strides in. He isn't precisely _tense_ but Nyota reflects that there is a certain stiffness about his limbs, his steps a little too fast and hard. She blinks.

"Spock? I thought you were in a meeting until 0230."

"It concluded earlier than expected."

Nyota wishes to roll her eyes.

"All right, well Mr Scott and I will be in the cafeteria if you need us."

She glances back as they walk into the corridor, and the door shuts as Spock sits in his chair by Jim's side. Something's shifted now, and she daren't speak to Spock about it just yet. Scotty walks by her side in silence, and she realises that he was there to see it shift too.

"Does the Commander seem a bit.. off to ye?" He brings it up before Nyota is able.

As with everything she says, she picks her words carefully, sorting them into something eloquent and precise. After a second, she settles on the truth.

"I wouldn't call it 'off', however there has definitely been a - change in Spock. I think Kirk dying caused him to understand things about himself that he didn't know of previously. Spock does tend to get like this when Kirk becomes injured, but never to this extent before."

"Aye lassie, he realised a few things alright. I cannae say that I have seen such pain before."

"Nor are you likely to see it again. _Mpende akupandaye_ \- love only the one who loves you. It's good advice. Perhaps I should have listened to it."

"Don't put yerself down, lass. You are a strong'n, a brave woman. Many a lad would be mighty glad t'even be near you."

"Thank you, Mr Scott. Now, let me buy you a sandwich."

"Well, if ye insist. And call me Monty."

 **...**

Shuttered eyes leave eyelashes shadowed against Spock's pale skin. Nyota watches as his breaths drop to the same tidal steadiness of Kirk's. She doubts he is even aware of it. There is something heart-achingly indescribable about this synchronicity - she wonders when they became so codependent that the death of one meant the breaking of the other.

"Spock?"

He blinks, easing himself out of his meditation. She's loathe to interrupt it, but she has, and now those black-brown-beautiful eyes are gazing back. Nyota crumples.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Actually, this is a social call."

He inclines his head towards the second chair.

"Please take a seat, Nyota."

With a hesitant elegance, she does.

"How is he?"

"Doctor McCoy has informed me that the Captain will be brought out from his induced coma in a day or two. It appears the prognosis is good."

She can remember when Spock was an immovable object against Kirk's unstoppable force, and when they collided, their words cut deep to see each other burn, and bruises noosed Kirk's neck as Spock's walls free-fell into powerful blows. They had ripped each other apart, but somehow, in the aftermath, they'd rebuilt each other better.

"We need to talk."

Spock glances up at Kirk's monitor and then fixes his gaze coolly onto her.

"You are ceasing our relationship."

For all the languages she speaks, it's still too hard to find the right words.

"...Yes. I should've known you'd figure it out."

Nyota lets her laugh chime ruefully in the air. Spock quirks his head.

"We once watched a favourite sitcom of yours that featured that line. It occurred as the main protagonist was 'breaking up' with her partner. You informed me that this was a common sentence to use when ending a relationship."

Hesitantly, she touches his arm. Something hot and frighteningly like tears scald her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Spock, I am so sorry."

He reaches up.

"You are crying. This is illogical, as you are the one terminating our relationship."

Nyota had seen Spock wet-eyed before, holding the grief tight inside his stilled body - and even then he'd never cried. But then Kirk was dying, and their ritual words were perfect but still not big enough, and Nyota knew Spock had fallen the instant his tears did the same.

It still haunts her, that cry, that scream, that sound of uncontrollable emotion ripping out of Spock like a tangible thing. She would've said it was like he'd lost his entire world. Except that had already happened, and - outwardly at least - this was worse.

"I know. That's what happens when you have to let go of something you don't want to."

"If you do not want to 'let go' of me, then why are you?"

There is hurt laced through his curiosity, a tiny frown crinkled in between those sweeping brows.

"Because I love you, and you don't love me."

Spock looks slightly forlorn, but not in any way surprised.

"Nyota." He sighs inaudibly, "I apologize. From a young age, I was taught that I should be unable to feel, unable to love. It is... difficult for me to even acknowledge the presence of my feelings, let alone categorize them."

She shakes her head. Her smile is bittersweet as almonds and honeyed regret.

"No, you don't understand. I was fully aware going into this relationship that it might be hard, maybe even impossible, for you to return my feelings. That was okay, because I knew even if you never felt that way about me, I'd still be closer to you than anyone else in the universe."

Kirk's breath hitches, as if to complain. Spock's gaze flickers and alights softly on his face.

"But then you fell in love with someone else."

"I do not understand. Please clarify."

His guard is up now, higher and more iron-clad than it is normally. Nyota wants to laugh. She'd once thought they'd be perfect together, obsidian and alabaster, their combined cool wisdom becoming more than the sum of their parts. And at first, they were.

Twice a week they'd meet for dinner, and breakfast together almost every day. Slowly, though, Kirk began to join them in the mornings, play chess with Spock almost every night. They had teasing, dare-she-say flirtatious conversations on the bridge - Kirk put Spock's life before any other, and, illogically, Spock did the same. They were ivory and gold, logic against emotion, and Nyota began to realise what two halves of a whole truly looked like.

"I think you'll figure it out, Spock."

Nyota stands and gently cups his jaw, tilting his face up as she presses a kiss to the heated skin of his forehead. As she leaves, she thinks of the way death can change priorities, change people. Of Kirk and Spock reaching out until death do us part.

Of the way their hands were kissing through the glass.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

" _How'd you catch him?"_

 _The Doctor steps out of the way, to let Spock take his place._

" _I didn't."_

 _There is no other way to say that Jim lights up and settles down, relaxing into a warmth that appears golden against the blue-white of the bed, the room, and the sky._

" _You saved my life."_

 _It is not simply said as a fact, but an inevitability._

" _Uhura and I had something to do with it, too, you know."_

" _You saved my life, Captain. And the lives…"_

" _Spock, just… Thank you."_

 _His smile is not lazy, but it is easy, spreading luxurious across his tawny skin, even when he's reprimanding Spock with a gently rasping voice. Jim has just awoken from an induced coma, after dying from irradiation - yet the wonder glowing in those uncategorizable eyes is as equally for Spock as it is for life._

" _You_ are _welcome, Jim,"_

…

"I have brought my chess board."

Jim stops pushing at the controls, ending his childish game and letting the foot of the bed whirr back to it's original position. Spock represses an odd clench of irritation/affection.

"You mean _our_ chess board?"

Spock sits quietly on the seat provided, as Jim struggle-pushes himself up into a sitting position.

"I was under the impression that Christmas gifts are given permanently, and that ownership was relinquished by the giver upon the recipient opening it."

Laughter-lines crinkle at the edges of Jim's warm eyes, and Spock innocently raises an eyebrow.

"They are. However, I figured I've used it just as much as you have, so…"

"In that case, both Engineer Scott and I have strong claims to the command chair, considering both the fact that you prefer to pace the bridge rather than sit, and the amount of landing parties you lead."

Jim laughs, a humorous bark that Spock files away in his eidetic memory.

"Never! Besides, you come with me on most of the away missions anyway."

"That is because, as your First Officer, it is my duty to ensure you do not become injured."

 _Or killed._

Their eyes lock in lieu of wanting to say anything, and Spock detangles himself from self-hate long enough to set up the board. Bathed in silence, they begin to play, familiar, hopeful, and teetering on a precipice. Feelings are not things with which Spock is intimately acquainted, but Jim is. And he does not simply _have_ reckless, vast, bone-shakingly cathartic feelings, he also inspires them.

"I wasn't sure that you were coming back."

Jim does not look at him, laid bare and barely contained, as his fingers rock a pawn in a circle on its base.

"I apologize. It was imperative that I inspect the repairs to the ship while you are indisposed."

He allows softness to tint his voice to the closest kind of gentle Spock can let Jim have.

Understandably, he had been disturbed earlier that day, when the Doctor, and later Spock, had tried to leave. It was not illogical for a human who had experienced significant trauma to act in this way, and if Spock had felt his own fear rise to mirror the cold-ice-pain in Jim's expression - in the shock of horror leaching the control from where Jim caught his arm - then perhaps it was not illogical for a Vulcan to brush his reassurances across the back of Jim's hand with the ghost of a single finger.

"No, I get it. And I'm sorry for… earlier, too."

"It was understandable."

Jim looks at him deeply.

"How are you?"

"I am fine."

"'Fine has variable definitions.' You told me that once when I said the same thing. Did you really think I wouldn't use it against you?"

He is smiling, but it has that look about it that Spock is unable to adequately describe, even in his own head, other than it reminding him of eyelashes spiked with dried tears.

"If it were not illogical, I would regret having given you this information."

Jim laughs once, before his smile fades.

"Seriously, though. How are you? There's something… I don't know, I just feel like something happened, something big, and now you don't know what to make of it."

As always, Jim sees that which Spock does not want to see himself. _Several 'big' things have happened,_ he wishes to say. _You ceased to live, and I ceased to function, and now that you are alive it is as though I have just realised a truth which I should already have known._

"Nyota has terminated our relationship." He says instead.

Sympathy opens the pink bow of Jim's lips in an automatic apology, brow creased as he reaches out to curl a tender hand over Spock's shoulder. Although he does not lean into the contact, he does not forbid it either. A slow blink later, he straightens up and away from the inappropriate display of emotion.

"You wanna talk about it?"

There is a neat line of black pieces on Jim's side of the board, and he adds a rook to this now. It is deliberate, Spock is sure, allowing him this moment of composure, and he is both grateful and borderline uncomfortable that someone could know so unerringly what he needed.

"It is unnecessary. I do not believe it was, as you humans are fond of saying, 'a bad break-up.'"

Spock puts him into check. Jim considers this, and makes an absentminded-seeming move, biting the inside of his cheek as curiosity hums through the twitch of his fingers. Less than three-point-two seconds is all that Spock gives him, and three-point-one seconds is all he gives Spock.

"Can I - Am I allowed to ask what happened?"

"It appears that you just did."

Jim rolls his eyes in a manner Spock has come to associate with Doctor McCoy.

"So… you gonna tell me?"

Even in this, he is relentless.

"She… pointed out flaws within our relationship."

That look of apology is back, but tempered with something Spock would not dare to call repressed hope.

"I'm sorry, Spock. I _am_ sorry. She's a great woman, and you're - well, I hope you two can still be good friends, and good colleagues. Remind me to, I don't know, buy you some chocolate so we can get stupid-drunk. Don't look at me like that, I'm kidding!"

Spock lowers his eyebrow.

"That was a shit pep talk, I know. But I do mean it - mean everything - and you know that."

"Yes, Jim. I know."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

He picks at the bandage with a bitten-down nail. There's something intimate, vulnerable, about a needle in the crook of an elbow - the skin is delicate and traced with veins under the white gauze, and Jim looks forward to ripping away this weakness.

Footsteps create a precise path of sound down the hallway, and Jim is faux-sleeping under the covers by the time the door clicks open.

"I know you're awake, you infant."

Jim gives his best look of innocence, yawning widely and obnoxiously in Bones's face.

"You'll go home this afternoon, but I'm on duty then until late. I wouldn't let you go because I just _know_ you'll break yourself open if you're alone, so the hobgoblin'll take you home. At least I know the stick up his ass won't let him do anything but follow doctor's orders."

Jim laughs, anticipation burning down the line of his spine. Bones gives him a skulking look, leaning back on one foot almost nervously.

"C'mere."

He spreads his arms like an open wound, inviting healing as much as he's offering it. The Doctor gruffly goes into them, acting rough but really his hands are feather-soft on the still painful expanses of his skin. Jim feels irritation at being treated like a being of porcelain and glass, but says nothing.

Bones ruffles his hair as he leaves, muttering darkly over the huff of his breath. Jim smiles his best friend out of the door.

They make him leave in a wheelchair.

"Spock…" He whines into the warm afternoon air, "Why I am in this thing? You are aware I can walk, right?"

"It is standard procedure, Captain."

Jim flings his head back dramatically, gazing sulkily up at his Vulcan. "I thought that was for pregnant women, or women who've just had a baby. Do I look like a Mom to you?"

"You do not resemble a female, however your protective instincts, especially towards those younger than you, could be considered maternal."

"Oh, is that how we're playing this? Have you seen yourself when someone gets dodgy around Chekov, or when someone kidnaps me, or hits on me, or I hit on them? You're like a crazy Dad with a shotgun."

"I am neither insane or a father, and I do not own a shotgun."

"Ha! So you admit it, you do get all pissed off when someone chats me up! Like that Deltan ambassadorial aide, when she was all like 'Oh Captain Kirk, maybe you should help me get settled in, if you know what I mean.'"

At that, Jim winked to prove his point, voice almost painfully dripping with innuendo. Spock looked at him doubtfully.

"Vulcans do not get 'pissed off', and Idalia's preposition displayed a serious breach in misconduct."

"Bull. Shit." Jim enthusiastically kicked open the hospital doors from his wheelchair, proudly savouring Spock's exasperation.

The wheelchair ramp forms a languid slope down to the hospital carpark. Jim feels Spock shift his weight back slightly, effortlessly compensating for the pull of gravity. He pouts and leans into the momentum.

"Faster, Spock, faster!"

To his surprise, Spock obliges, letting the chair gain speed as he increases his pace behind it. It is, of course, a controlled fall, but Jim laughs bright as happiness. His hand lifts, lazily gliding up and down the same way as he did as a child, undulating in the wind outside the car window.

"May I inquire as to what you are doing?"

"People do it all the time in cars, especially when it's a hot day. There's just something about sticking your hand into the breeze and learning about air-resistance, drag, that kinda thing, even if you don't know what it's called. I s'pose that's how a lot of kids learn, by having fun at the same time. Figuring out the wind. Playing with aerodynamics."

They go back to Jim's place, and Spock takes a book out of his hover-car before they enter. It's something Jim hasn't read in a very long time, and he can't help but lean over Spock's shoulder, propping himself up on the back of the armchair. He sighs and hands it over with graceful irritation, stalking to the bookshelf with a familiarity that Jim finds somehow charming.

Spock sits back in the armchair and Jim stretches out along the couch. He breathes in deeply the comfortable silence, and then begins to read.

 _It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…_

 **...**

Rasping breaths struggled against the burn of his entire body, sweat staining his skin even as he keened awake. He was going to die.

He knew what this was. He was going to die.

Jim stumble-whirls out of bed and down the hall, limbs cold and hot and disjointed, and already the room was spinning and he was spinning the other way. Bile is retched into his mouth, vomit following in sour waves. He falls hard against the toilet, porcelain cold-burning his skin, and Jim throws up, and gasps, and sobs, and understands that he isn't dying because he's already died.

The panic does not leave. It does not prickle across the back of his neck, it bites jaw-deep at the nape, ravaging down his spine, making his body judder and shake and crack. Jim falls back against the wall, legs hunched, forehead pressed to his folded arms, watching phosphenes starburst in time with the nausea.

"Jim! Are you alright?"

Jim flails his arm - _get away_ \- even as Spock steps helplessly forward.

"What do you need? You must tell me."

"Hold-"

The word cracks, ashamed, in the air.

Spock is silhouetted against the light of the hallway, angel-pale skin, slim-hipped silk pajamas, staring right at him with those dark bedroom eyes. Jim buries his face in the back of his forearms warding off his weakness (warding off Spock) with his shaking jagged edges. A warm presence sits ramrod straight beside him, then tentatively slow, Spock leans against him until they are connected thigh to shoulder, the heat anchoring him down.

"Don't…" He tries to mumble, shivering at every reason why this is a bad idea.

Even so, Jim shifts closer to that incalescence, bursting into coughs at the change of position, curling further into himself, into Spock. The Vulcan runs a burning hand up and down his back, sliding on the sweat-slicked skin, and Jim wants to cry for this kindness. Jim is seized by an urge to pull Spock's arms around him. To lie against the shelter of his heat-radiating body. To press his face to Spock's chest to hear his heartbeat, except it won't be there, and he daren't lay a hand just above the curve of his hipbone, so he lets the rise and fall of Spock's breathing rock him to sanity instead.

Spock moves his arm back down to his side. They stay like that for a length of time that Jim can't count. _Spock must be uncomfortable with this broken human trying to pull himself together through willpower and stolen body-heat_. But if he is, all he does is let Jim press closer as Jim breathes and breathes and breathes.

"I'm so sorry - you had t-to see th-at."

"Do not apologize for that which you cannot control."

That voice is like cool velvet, and Jim is thankful for these small miracles.

"You didn't have to… you still don't."

"I did. I do."

Spock's scent is familiar, desert-hot and spiced, offset by the smell of clean laundry, a sweet-fresh-spice-warmth. Jim can feel his heart in his mouth, hot and heavy and beating in the cradle of his tongue.

"What did I do to deserve you?"

Spock does not answer the question, but he turns his head dangerously close to the flare of Jim's hair.

"Is this the first time that you have had a panic attack?"

"No…" He breathes out. "But not for a long time. I thought I was dying. Again."

Spock tenses.

"Hey, you okay?"

There is a melancholy pause.

"Your death was not easy for any member of the crew."

"That's not an answer."

The Vulcan's lips thin, and he forces out the words without once looking up from his knees.

"Your death was not easy for me."

Jim sad-laughs, tilting his head towards the sky.

"The way Scotty tells it, 'not easy' is an understatement."

"It was not the Lieutenant-Commander's place to disclose such information." Spock snaps, scorched-earth, and stands to leave.

Jim goes frantic with panic - he catches Spock's arm.

"No! That was tactless. I didn't - I'm sorry."

Spock pulls himself away and strides to the door.

"Did you know that I've never had a nightmare?"

He pauses in the doorway, and that's when Jim knows he's got him.

"Panic attacks, night terrors, insomnia, whatever self-destructive behaviours you could think of, yes. But never nightmares. Never."

"Not even as a child?"

"Not even then. I mean, I dream of course. There's some pretty weird shit in my dreams. But nothing that counts as a nightmare."

Spock comes to stand in front of him.

"And then last night, I dreamt of that day. I dreamt of dying. Of burning with radiation in every muscle, every bone. But instead of falling and dying like a coward on the floor, I was banging on the glass. You were there. Just… crouching there, just like I remember it. And you looked so sick. So sad. I could see t-the tears. I hit the glass. I hit it and hit it and hit it, but I couldn't, it didn't break, and your hand was pressed against the glass.

"I was so weak and everything hurt and the last thing I heard was a scream."

Jim feels tears at the back of his throat, the edges of his eyes, and looks up at Spock.

"I don't think that scream really happened. I don't remember it. But I woke up sweating and gasping, and I thought 'I didn't die. _That_ was dying.' It...it sounded like you."

Spock opens his mouth, and the pain makes him look so young. He closes it slowly, because there is nothing to be said that Jim isn't already realising.

"Spock…?"

Jim teeters to his feet, feeling as if he's stumbling onto something huge and dangerous; bigger than the blood drying like tear-tracks down his face as Pike lays the entire universe down on the table, there for the taking; better than throwing himself off every edge he can find, tasting adrenaline and lovers' sweat on his shit-eating grin; more beautiful than space glittering and infinite, than stars colliding and blazing in the aftermath.

Jim slips his arms around Spock, one through the tense loop of Spock's arm, folded neatly behind his back, one over the elegant curve of Spock's shoulder, and he fists the slick material, trembling into an embrace. He tilts his face into the juncture of his neck, inhaling the scent of Spock's fear, and thinks - _not everything. not yet._

Spock does not return the gesture, but he does not push Jim away, and that means more than perhaps any words can ever say.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

His eyes are hazel. In some lights, Jim had almost mistaken them for blue, but in truth Chekov's eyes are gentle-warm brown, the light shade of hope. Sulu's are darker - he's seen more, he's seen worse - but Chekov's still look wide and innocent and every tint of _young._ They all three stand in front of a line of new-dug graves, the earth turned over and staring at the sky, like eyes shadowed by headstone eyelids.

Each man and woman lying underneath - (rotting, decomposing, accusing) - gave their life in that final brave plunge, in explosions of fire in deep space and breaches in the gleaming metal. Each man and woman passed away fearlessly and devotedly and proudly. Each man and woman died, including Jim, and yet he's still standing here with the tears not-falling and his hands clenched tightly enough to be not-shaking.

"I did not know you were dead until you were alive. Did you know zat? I knew something was wrong, because Mister Spock's voice was shaking - it newer shakes. But I only found out what when the dust settled."

"There was no time-"

Chekov holds up a hand. "I am not angry. It was a brave death you died. I would be honoured to die zat death. I think, perhaps, you would like to die zat way again? But you must know zis - if there is a way we can bring you back, we will do it. No matter what it costs."

Sulu lays a hand on the slope of his shoulder, an agreement and a comfort, both at the same time.

"I'm not a religious man, but to that I say amen."

Jim smiles through a sweet ache, looking upon these two great men and seeing that they will one day be greater. His communicator nuzzles and buzzes into his hip. Flipping it open, he holds up an apologetic hand to Sulu and Chekov.

"Captain Kirk here."

"Admiral Komack here. You and Spock are required at a meeting at 'Fleet headquarters."

Spock is standing with textbook-perfect posture at the end of a row in the near distance, watching silently as Uhura reaches out to touch the headstone reverentially. When she turns away there is a hand pressing the sobs back behind her lips; Spock cups her elbow like one would hold glass, and Uhura steps just an inch too far into his personal space. They're no longer together, but it almost seems like they don't know that, and so it must be curiosity that lodges a piece of shrapnel into the base of Jim's spine.

"Gaila." He says with all the weight of the world, coming to stand beside them and looking at the inscription on the grave.

"Yes. I… I miss her. She was always bringing guys back to our room - mostly you, to be honest, but I still miss her."

"Me too. And just to clarify that I'm not _as_ much of a slut as you think I am, I didn't actually know that she was sleeping with about five other guys at the same time as me."

Spock raises an eyebrow - Jim is trying to joke, but it comes out thick with unshed tears and affection. Something rears up in his chest, familiar and recognizing its own kind.

"Would you have ceased sexual relations with her, if you had known of her promiscuity?"

He hopes that it comes out edged with just enough warmth that Jim understands his attempt to lighten the mood. It seems that he does, because a half smile quirks the soft curve of his lips.

"Probably not. She was an absolute whirlwind, and I mean that in every sense of the word."

Uhura laughs like stained glass. "I know what you mean. She was her own kind of creature."

Spock thinks on this - _her own kind of creature._ He thinks that perhaps this applies to Jim, who is a walking contradiction, a being of bright-eyes and smart brashness, whose laugh feels like sunlight and sounds like scraped knuckles, flawless in his flaws and he is his own kind of creature.

"Oh, Spock. I came over here to tell you that we've been called to headquarters. Admiral Komack wants us for some reason or other." Jim catches Spock's arm and makes to go.

"Uhura? You'll be okay, right?"

His sympathy shows in his voice and in his face. Uhura nods and shoos them away. There is a second in which Spock miscalculates and thinks that Jim will link his arm in Spock's. For a moment, his hand is cradled in the crook of Spock's elbow, warm and insistent, their arms pressed together inappropriately. Then it's gone and Jim is striding ahead, walking backwards as he so often does in his almost-boyish enthusiasm.

His own kind of creature.

…

"As you know, the Enterprise will be re-christened soon."

Jim nods, rocking up onto the balls of his feet in excitement. "Yes, sir. I'm looking forward to it."

Admiral Pike smiles. "I'd noticed. Anyway, she needs a mission to go on. And we were thinking that, as our flagship, she deserves to boldly go where no man has gone before, as it were."

The Captain is almost fidgeting now, and Spock can calculate the precise moment that he understands.

"The five year mission…" He breathes.

"Exactly. It would mean a couple of weeks of extra work, to make sure she's self-sufficient and ready for a long journey. Something of this magnitude has never been attempted before, but I believe you and First Officer Spock have proven yourselves up to the challenge."

Admiral Komack's face is as kindly as Spock has ever seen it - not precisely difficult, as he has often privately compared the Admiral's facial expressions to that of an average Vulcan's.

Jim turns to Spock, his face lit up with the purest kind of exultion that Spock has ever been privileged to witness. Spock nods, unable to prevent the fond softening of his eyes.

"Yes." Jim says. " _Yes."_

 **...**

"Three months into a five year mission, and you haven't been down to engineering _once."_

Bones is not only stubborn, he sees everything. Jim purses his lips to stop himself laughing, as Spock tries to carefully manoeuvre himself away from the conversation, and is immediately stopped by a stern glare.

"And Spock! You're just as bad as him."

"What d'you mean? I just haven't needed to go to engineering, that's why."

"I concur."

The Doctor snorts. "A bull makes less shit. Jim, you used to be down there all the time - you didn't need an excuse. 'Course I haven't actually done a psych eval about it, but I should've seen something like this coming."

Jim fidgets and lets out a sniper-sharp sigh. Spock remains forebodingly silent.

"Something like what?"

"A phobia of the engineering department, specifically the warp-coily glass thing."

"Radioactive reactor chamber." Spock and Jim correct - absentmindedly, simultaneously.

"I'm a doctor not an engineer! What was I even- Yeah, a phobia. You've both had traumatic experiences, Spock psychologically and emotionally, and Jim physically, although it was probably pretty psychologically damaging for you too. And now, as a result, y'all associate that particular place with Jim's death, which is where your phobia comes from."

Jim rolls his eyes, almost angry, and turns to Spock, who seems more disdainful than anything.

"Vulcans do not have phobias. It is illogical to experience fear about something that cannot harm you."

"Exactly." Jim nods. "And I have a shit-ton of issues, but I'm pretty sure I'd know if I had some sort of phobia. And about my ship, too."

A smirk slides smoothly into place on Bones' face, and Jim can dimly see the edges of the trap that they've both walked into. He feels an irrational jolt of fright, and dismisses it as nothing more than a healthy fear of being hypo-d.

"Well then, I'm sure neither of you will object to paying Scotty a visit, then?"

 **...**

They stand on opposite sides of the turbolift, pushing each other away - repulsion between two magnets. And like magnets, neither dares to turn and look at the other, afraid that the strange attraction of unspoken truths will pull them tight together.

"Do you really think we have a phobia? I always thought people knew about their fears, I mean how can you not know? Sure, I don't have _great_ memories of that place, but I don't think I'm avoiding it."

His words are balloons and they fill up the air; large, hollow, fragile to the slightest prick of a pin. Spock's words are precise. They are that pin.

"Vulcans do not have phobias."

"...But humans do. Yeah, I get it, thanks. Should I take my frail human weaknesses away somewhere else, so's they don't offend your delicate Vulcan sensibilities?"

It kind of both impresses and scares Jim that Spock isn't offended, that he's already breached Jim's walls of defense and knows them both inside and out.

"Captain… I am aware that you are nervous. I must admit to - apprehension myself."

The doors open.

Jim breathes a silent half-breath, folding himself into Spock's personal space; leaning, curling, shying back into the radiant inch of heat around his body. Spock arches his neck, too close to touch, and the Captain's fists curl with decision. They move to stand in front of the glass door, glossed like a great and translucent eye, seeing all, even through the tears. The silence seems bereft without that keening roar, ripping out of Spock's mouth, woven and textured with pain.

Death, Spock thinks, is most commonly associated with the colour black. This is an inaccuracy. Dying is the green of illness, of dulled eyes sweeping half-lidded across his face - and Spock will forever consider it an honor that he was the last thing Jim saw before he died. It is the clear blue salt of choked-quiet conversations, and sobs being caged in chests.

It is a primary colour all of it's own, darker than the space in between the stars, yet somehow bright, vivid, incandescent in its vengeful purity.

Jim is trying not to shiver. Everyone always talks about going down in a blaze of glory, imploding, exploding, scorching the earth in a plume of flame. And that was truth, to a certain point. The closer Jim got to death, the more he burned; the white-hot thrill of fear searing through every filament of his body; the heated throb of blood salting his skin; pain sparking and lighting the tinder of his own fragility.

But death is not fire, it is ice. And it's one thing, he muses, to dance along the edge of the Other Side, losing your footing and scattering the pebbles. He had stepped straight into the abyss, scared but sure-footed.

Jim reaches out. The glass is just as cold as he remembers it. He knocks his shoulder to Spock's, a solid beat of warmth. Spock barely moves, and he does not look down, but his wrist rotates, his hand spreading into the familiar salute. Jim mimics the gesture, staring into the sterile irradiation of his own deathbed.

As one, their fingertips press together in a tentative mirror image, cupping each other's heartbeats in the palm of their hands.


End file.
